


Side Effects

by aftersoon (notboldly)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Avengers Shenanigans, First Time, Friendship, M/M, Post Avengers (Movie), Rejection, Romance, Slash, Tony the not-alcoholic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:18:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notboldly/pseuds/aftersoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rejection was unfamiliar territory for Tony Stark, but at least he somehow got a friend out of the deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Depending on who you asked, people classified Tony Stark as arrogant, selfish, or both. This was the result, they usually said, of growing up in the lap of luxury and being touted as a genius from an early age, whether or not it was true. Tony didn't disagree, because although his childhood hadn't been perfect ( _blasphemy_ —Howard was surely the world's best father) it had definitely been easy in the shallowest of ways. Tony simply got what he wanted, and this had been true his entire life. If it was a thing, he bought it or built it. If it didn't exist, he invented it. If it was a person…well, almost the exact same rules applied. Tony always got what he wanted, sooner or later.

Dr. Banner, though…he was a challenge.

It started the way all of Tony's conquests started: with his eye on the prize, although surprisingly not quite in the way he would have expected. When he'd agreed to lend Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. a much-needed hand, he had of course known the specifics, known that he was going to meet Captain fucking America and Dr. Robert Bruce Banner within the next day or so. He had expected to find the good Captain the more impressive of the two and that Dr. Banner—for all his brilliant, amazing and frankly _beautiful_ academic papers—would be just another intellectual in a sea of anonymous faces. Tony had been fine with this. There was a world crisis with the risk of impending alien invasion all plotted by a very damaged Asgardian; Tony rather thought that it would be better if he focused on work this time, and since he had no plans of sleeping with Captain fucking America, he expected this to be no problem at all.

Dr. Banner was surprising in person, surprising and _instantly_ attractive to Tony. Not just because he was quiet and so intentionally unassuming that Tony saw through it immediately, or because Bruce Banner was also the Hulk and Tony had a personal interest in men who thought they were monsters. Not just because he was cute, although between the dark hair and eyes and the fact that he had a mouth Tony _dearly_ wanted to investigate, that was definitely the case. These things might have helped, but it was also true that Bruce was, by all accounts, genuinely nice. His less family friendly alter ego might have been full of rage and pain, but Bruce was kind and self-sacrificing, the sort to deny himself things out of misplaced penance. Repressed. Lonely. Controlled.

Tony could never resist people who acted like they had nothing better to do than tell him no, because when they finally gave in, they were always the best in the sack. He might have pursued easy men and women overall, but occasionally he wanted the chase, wanted the reward. Bruce, he was sure, would be both.

Even though Tony hadn't initially planned on it and even in the midst of a terrible disaster, he found himself acquiring a new target.

********

The entire seduction went well, at least initially. After Loki was defeated and his army fell and then _Tony_ fell out of a hole in space, he convinced Bruce that it would be in his best interests if he came and stayed at Stark Towers for a while. It was astonishingly easy considering how skittish the man was, how much he longed to leave and how justified his fear. Really, it was just mild manipulation on Tony's part; Bruce had destroyed three floors of Stark Towers, after all (the flooring wouldn't come cheap, and smashing a demi-god into it had overreaching structural consequences) and Bruce _had_ saved Tony's life. Between the guilt and the social convention to accept gratitude, convincing Bruce to stay for a few months before he left to parts unknown was nowhere near as difficult as it should have been. Tony was feeling hopeful, in fact, and that meant that the next stage was a go almost immediately.

It began easily enough. Tony had spent his entire life using his wealth and status to his advantage, and Bruce, it seemed, had spent his entire life going without many things. Tony introduced just small luxuries at first—privacy, normalcy, and stability—before making things a bit more interesting. Bruce didn't want _things_ , but he was a scientist in one of the most progressive fields of research; he valued technology, equipment, and opportunity. Tony happily provided all of this, and slowly but surely, Bruce began to relax around him, relax around them all. This was good; lascivious motives aside, Tony had every intention of keeping Bruce in Stark R&D for the foreseeable future and aftermath, because the man was _brilliant_.

Exactly two months after Bruce moved in (a bit slower than typical, but Tony figured it would be worth it in the end), he put stage three into motion. And stage three, in true Tony Stark fashion, was alcohol.

"Bruce? Hey Bruce! Are you gonna come join the party, or what?" It was said from the entryway of Bruce's assigned and private lab, with Tony wearing his best suit, sharpest grin, and carrying two mimosas. Not his usual drink, but extensive study had shown it to be Bruce's, the only alcohol he bothered risking, and that was really the key.

When Bruce looked up from his work, he seemed startled, as if he hadn't been aware of the party twenty floors down. Tony had no idea how that was possible; Thor was singing.

"A party?" Well, that eliminated any doubts he'd had. Tony shrugged, as if the comment wasn't odd at all, and walked to the counter before extending a glass. Bruce didn't take it immediately, but when Tony made no motion to withdraw the offered flute, Bruce removed his glasses— _God_ , Tony loved those glasses—and accepted it with one hand.

"A celebration. You know. Thor is booming battle songs, Natasha is showing Pepper how to bump and grind and I don't get to watch, Clint is on top of the television set. Dodging eggs, I think, but I'm not really sure—they might be golf balls or something."

Bruce nodded slowly and sipped his drink. Tony watched his lips touch glass and his throat move, and the sight made him go hard instantly. Hence his best suit; it had nice pleats to hide this sort of thing, and it made his ass look _fantastic_ , thank you very much.

Then Bruce smiled at him, a rare, wide smile, and Tony tried not to look like he was thinking lewd thoughts.

"Thanks, Tony. This is one of my favorite drinks, you know." Bruce sounded so grateful for the thought that Tony didn't even feel like it was a waste to spend several thousand dollars on the most expensive champagne he could find.

"Really? I had no idea." Tony took a swallow of his and barely suppressed a cringe at the orange juice ruining perfectly good (if fizzy) alcohol. "So, Avengers party? You don't even have to bench-press tables or anything—last I checked, someone was recruiting Steve to do that."

Bruce laughed, as Tony had known he would.

"I don't know. What is this one for, exactly, that there's champagne?"

Now that was a little harder. Just a bit.

"Pepper's dating somebody again, some executive or something that doesn't ever walk outside without a suit. I figured it was deserving of a bit less getting smashed and more making toasts." Tony stared at his drink with fake interest, then shrugged and sipped some more. It wasn't as sickly sweet the second time around, he noticed.

When he looked up, Bruce was looking at him with sympathy, which— _dammit all_ —was not the way Tony wanted the evening to go. Then again, if guilt had worked in the first place…

"Yeah, I know, right? Can't believe that's her taste, but, you know." Tony sighed, long and drawn out and intentionally overdone. "Truth be told, I'm not having the best time right now. Not drunk enough, probably."

Bruce bit his lip, and Tony was _barely_ able to stop himself from leaning forward and taking over the task. Fortunately, Bruce stopped the motion in its tracks by taking another sip of mimosa.

"I suppose I could come down for an hour or two. I mean, the dye has to set anyway before I can run anymore tests."

Tony put on his most grateful smile—he suspected it looked a bit demented; he wasn't used to being grateful—and clinked his glass to Bruce's in a solid cheers. They downed them both together, and Tony thought, almost giddily, that everything was going according to plan. If Tony didn't have Bruce on the nearest flat surface in two hours, then he had no right to call himself a Stark.

It didn't exactly follow the plan after that, and Tony had no idea why.

It was a straightforward if crude strategy: a few drinks to lighten the mood and the tension, active music and a quiet couch, discussions on science that truthfully probably turned them both on more than dirty talk ever would. There was laughter on both ends as they watched the spectacle of their teammates, and two mimosas later (on Bruce's part, since Tony had switched to scotch almost immediately) they were sitting on a loveseat, pressed thigh to thigh. Tony felt light, airy, his breath a rush from laughing so hard and from more scotch than necessary, and Bruce closed his eyes even though he must have barely felt the alcohol. An invitation if he had ever seen one, and Tony gladly accepted; the lights were dimmed with a quiet order for JARVIS, and Tony, in the single smoothest move ever patented for teenagers, did the yawn and stretch maneuver until one arm was across Bruce's shoulders, hand touching the side of his neck and tilting his head towards him gently. Bruce was breathing softly through his mouth, lips curved slightly and body lax as his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.

Tony took a breath and then leaned forward, touching their lips together softly as he felt the first strumming of _success_ pump through his veins. He didn't mind the taste of orange juice and champagne if it was on Bruce's lips, he thought; sacrifices had to be made, because his lips were soft and full and wonderful and Tony wanted them on him, kissing him, biting him, sucking him. Wanted them everywhere, and soon. He pushed further, turning the action from gentle and barely there to an obvious kiss.

Bruce jerked away quickly enough that Tony, leaning as he was, ended up on the ground. If it wasn't for the music still playing loudly throughout the floor, the noticeable thump of him hitting the carpet would have brought an entirely unwelcome audience to their side. As it was, Tony felt his chest heaving like he'd been pressed under a weight without his Iron Man suit, like the glow of the arc reactor had dimmed. He stared back at Bruce with the sturdiest, _sexiest_ look of calm he could muster, because Bruce was looking at him with an expression of (in Tony's opinion) entirely unjustified alarm.

Tony just smiled, shifting subtly to hide the fact that their perfectly _innocent_ kiss had made sure that all of him was awake and paying attention.

"Problem?" There shouldn't have been; Tony did his research, and Bruce liked men, had even had sex with some in the past. Bruce liked Tony. Ergo, it was a natural assumption.

"Yes. Yes, I'd say so." Bruce puffed out a breath and dragged a hand through his hair, face haggard like it hadn't been for months. "What the hell, Tony—I'm not going to _sleep_ with you, for Christ's sake."

The tone of the statement said _obvious_ , and that made the words even harder to swallow. Because…really? Tony had never encountered this before.

"Who said anything about sleep?" The quip was automatic, delivered while Tony's eyes flicked over Bruce quickly. Alarm in every line, arousal in none. Panic. Fear. Anger. Distrust. Tony had made a misstep somewhere; he just wished he knew _where_.

Bruce was looking at him with sympathy again.

"Tony, maybe you've had enough partying for one night. Maybe you should just…take it easy." And now he was placating him, like Tony needed someone to ease him through his first _rejection_. Tony laughed at the novelty of it all.

"Sure, Bruce. Sure."

What the hell—Tony was _Iron Man_. Rejection might not have been fun, but there was no new experience he couldn't handle. He would cope.

Somehow.

********


	2. Chapter 2

The difficulty with rejection, in Tony's mind, was that he wasn't entirely sure how to proceed once it had happened. He knew the relationship game, the play at love; with the notable exception of Pepper, they all followed the same pattern. Flirt. Plan. Seduce. Avoid. The aftermath was never pretty, but Tony liked to think that he was an expert at handling it. It often ended with the other party hating him or being impossibly bitter, but Tony figured that was just the way of things. Half the time, they also ended up working for him at Stark Industries, provided they were qualified; he offered an excellent care package, after all, and it was _very_ effective at soothing wounded feelings.

In this case, however, there wasn't an aftermath. Bruce was the sort of person who forgave and forgot, mostly—when he said _let's forget it_ , that was exactly what he meant. And sure enough, the morning after what Tony decided was a horrific failure, Bruce acted no differently. Wore the same faintly amused and occasionally bemused smile of acknowledgement. Laughed in that rusty way he had. He didn't watch Tony with suspicion or stand a little further apart. He just…forgot.

However, despite the lack of fiery end, Tony didn't imagine a repeat performance would be accepted. Now that he knew Bruce was fully willing to and likely to say no, it made the whole "seduce the scientist" plan go a little hazy. Thanks to the sexual harassment seminars Tony had been subjected to not too long ago, he wasn't even sure if another plan was in the works; there was a definite difference between a (not quite) drunken mistake and repeated attempts, and Bruce—while not exactly an employee—was still a guest who happened to work in the labs when he felt like it and shared his discoveries with Stark Industries gladly. The fine line was not so fine, and so Tony scrapped the idea. Did he like admitting defeat? No. But there was a large part of him that _liked_ having Bruce not be mad at him, and—this he assured himself—the sex probably wouldn't have been that good anyway.

But because Bruce didn't hold a grudge and because Tony hadn't burned his bridges with fantastic sex, there was nowhere to go but forward, as if the plan had never happened at all. Tony decided to keep him…and it was fine. Bruce wasn’t a bad guy.

Sometimes, he was even a _great_ guy.

“If there was ever a time for ‘I love you,’ this would be it.” The words came out more than a little slurred, a little slobbery, but Bruce just shook his head and situated Tony’s arm more firmly across his shoulders. They were walking, Tony could tell that much, although where they were, he had no idea. Also: walking. Walking was hard.

“I do what I can. How’s your breathing, Tony? Any pain in your chest?”

Tony thought about it, concentrated too much. His chest _did_ hurt, but it was the good kind of hurt, the kind that came from laughing too much.

“You _were_ laughing, Tony, for about twenty-three minutes.” Bruce sighed and shifted the weight of his body from one side to the other, muscles trembling with what might have been exhaustion. The jostling distracted Tony just enough, and they stumbled. “Left foot, Tony. There we go.” A gentle hand touched the crown of his head, and Tony would have said it was nice, except _ow._ “How’s your head feeling? You got a pretty good bump when you fell.”

“I fell?” Actually, he vaguely remembered that, if he closed his eyes and concentrated. They stumbled again, and Tony looked down in disbelief. All he saw was the sidewalk. “Do I even have legs?” The possibility should have seemed more serious, but for some reason, Tony found himself fighting off laughter.

Bruce was smiling when he answered. Tony could hear it. Tony could practically see it form colors in the air.

“You do have legs.” Tony double-checked, and Bruce let out a quiet rumble, a step before a chuckle. “Also, as far as I can tell, you got hit with some sort of alien happy pill, but I won’t actually know until we get back.”

“Huh.” It struck Tony as odd that they were walking, odder still that Bruce was capable of supporting him. He must have been without his suit, and without the other Avengers, come to think, which was weird—he didn’t remember planning alone time. “Where is everybody?” There, a perfectly normal question. Ruined by a giggle, but still.

“Still fighting aliens, probably.”

“But you’re not?”

“You fell out of the sky after being hit in the chest by something that looked like a beam of fire. It was a bit more urgent than impending property damage.”

Tony smiled and laughed. And kept laughing.

“Aw, the big guy has a soft spot for me!”

“The big guy thought your arc reactor had malfunctioned. Call me concerned.”

“You’re awesome, Bruce. So awesome.” The arm that was around Bruce’s shoulders gave a squeeze, slipping a little on bare skin. His shoulders were too dry and _bare_ , and that was weird. Tony looked down, curious, and saw nothing. Couldn’t angle his head far enough with Bruce’s hand cradling his neck, holding him in place. “Are you naked?” That would be his life: Bruce running around in the nude when he couldn’t see.

“Of course not—emergency pants, remember?” Tony supposed that made sense, possibly. He couldn’t be sure. Couldn’t really focus, in fact, except on the blur of their surroundings. Sort of familiar. Too colorful. “Tony? We’re almost there. Keep talking.”

Tony tried to turn and scowl at Bruce, because he _wanted_ to scowl. He couldn’t turn, of course, and that was annoying. His body, dammit—it was supposed to follow _his_ orders, not JARVIS or Bruce or the Star-Spangled golden boy.

“About what? You don’t wanna talk about Steve, do you? I don’t want to talk about Steve.”

“We don’t have to talk about Steve. Just talk.”

Tony did. He babbled about a lot of things, about how he loved Pepper’s hair and thought V8 was an overrated drink and an overrated engine, about the fact that his favorite animal was a packrat because they were collectors like him, about how Bruce’s hair smelled nice and looked soft and don’t worry but Tony wouldn’t touch it. It didn’t make much sense, but it kept Tony fairly lucid as they walked through the doors of Stark Tower, which was probably the point. Tony didn’t remember refusing to go to a hospital; maybe Bruce just knew. Then again, what could a hospital do about alien drugs?

When Tony sat down, it was on a couch, and he was shaking, shuddering. He didn’t feel much like laughing anymore, and he didn’t know where Bruce was. His body hurt, ached like it hadn't since he was fifteen and a twisted mess after crashing one of his dad's cars. (Send _him_ off to MIT? _Bullshit._ ) Strangely enough, though, it was the "missing Bruce" part that bothered him more.

When Bruce appeared again, he crouched down right into his space, shining a light into Tony’s eyes. Tony winced and tried to pull back, but Bruce held him in place with a loose clasp of his hand.

“Your eyes aren’t dilated.”

 _Neither are yours_ , Tony thought, close enough to see as Bruce looked him over with concern. Bruce’s eyes weren’t dilated; they were just beautiful, and brown like mud. And if that sounded uncomplimentary, it wasn’t. Tony had built some great things out of mud back when he was younger. It made sense to him…but then again, Tony had just realized he wasn’t thinking terribly well. The colors were running, leaving light behind that made him wince and try to close his eyes, except Bruce wouldn’t let him just sleep, jolting him into awareness every time he tried.

Hell, even _Bruce_ was shimmering like some sort of halo or bug zapper. Whatever he’d been hit with was definitely some good shit. Not cocaine-level good, but considering that Tony hadn’t had cocaine in a while, the comparison was probably off. That seemed like something Bruce should know, though, so Tony told him. _Not as good as cocaine._

It startled the hell out of Bruce.

“When did you do cocaine?” Tony shrugged, chin sinking to his chest, and Bruce yanked him back up to meet his eyes. “Tony, this is important.”

“College. I was…kind of a waste of space for a while. Still am sometimes.” Usually. Always. Tony wondered how much he said, because Bruce looked at him with painful understanding for what felt like ages. Sympathy, understanding—they weren’t things Tony was used to, and he was pretty sure he didn’t want them anyway.

In the silence, Bruce ran his fingers across Tony’s hair in a way that could be interpreted as affectionate, but was realistically just a doctor checking for skull fractures in lieu of an x-ray machine; Tony made a note to never buy one. When Bruce finally looked away, it was so he could crouch down to look at Tony’s chest, at the arc reactor that was glowing too brightly. Tony made some comment about Bruce desperately wanting them to be shirtless buddies, but it fell flat and he stopped talking. Probably for the best.

Bruce sighed heavily as he felt around the scarred flesh, making sure nothing had been dislodged. A heart monitor beeped in the background, and Tony still didn’t know where they were.

It took him a while to realize Bruce was talking, but once he had, he was glad he hadn’t fallen asleep.

“You’re not a waste of space, Tony. You’re difficult, I’ll grant you that, and most people are probably more likely to punch you than thank you if you helped them, but you’re still a person. A decent person.” That…was new. And because Tony was still seeing things, the statement was lit up like a carnival, all the better to make it stand out. Then Bruce swallowed and met his eyes, held Tony’s focus and smiled reassuringly. “I’m proud to be your friend.”

Friends. Tony didn’t have many.

“Thanks, Bruce.” Tony was grinning stupidly, he knew it, and he didn't recall the last time he had been so happy to wear the expression. The smile didn’t last, however, fleeing quickly as his insides twisted. “Bruce. _Stomach._ ” It was all the warning they had, and then Tony was vomiting over Bruce’s clean pants, the couch, and expensive flooring.

Bruce ignored it, unresponsive except for the gentle hand and cloth that wiped Tony's face.

"It's okay, Tony. It'll pass."

Bruce couldn't have known that, but Tony appreciated the words regardless.

********

It was months before Tony realized that the words Bruce had said during the Endorphin Beam Fiasco were sincere. Part of this delay was because the entire experience was something of a haze for him (minus the severe headache he had afterwards, which was somehow perfectly, _unfairly_ clear) but the much larger reason was simply because Bruce was the sort of person who could say things like that and have the words come easily to him. It wasn't that Tony thought Bruce would have lied, but more than he thought Bruce could have embellished slightly on honest feelings in a moment of need. 'Proud', after all, was a strange choice of words; maybe 'glad' or even 'okay with' would have been better.

But as he'd said, the realization took months. More importantly, it happened during the strangest of times: game and science night. Okay, maybe the existence of game and science night was strange enough, but to be completely fair, they were a strange group. Natasha and Clint weren't allowed to play darts anymore (Clint for obvious reasons, but Natasha because she preferred throwing _knives_ and Tony thought she needed a better hobby and he feared for his life besides.) Also, Thor had a tendency to challenge anyone at anything and _win_ , and the end result of that was that while Tony was looking for alcohol one night, Thor decided to share the marvelous discovery of ping-pong with all of them.

When Thor lost badly to each of them in turn, the one-time occasion instantly became a regular occurrence on Thursdays (the day chosen because Tony was a dick like that.) They took turns picking the game, week after week; Natasha's first choice was dodgeball, Clint's was Mario Kart, Steve's was pool, and Tony's was, naturally, a drinking game. When it came time for Bruce's turn and his reluctant participation, he didn't pick a game: he picked science…by which Tony meant Bruce walked them through how to remove a hard-boiled egg from its shell with an industrial vacuum cleaner. Fairly simple, entirely rewarding, and without clear winners; to people who had missed out on science fairs when they were younger (and 2/3 of the Avengers teams probably _had_ ) it was instantly appealing.

After that, it became game and science night, because there was nothing wrong with a little baking soda and vinegar mixed with their Mortal Kombat. Since Tony found himself hopelessly curious about a certain scientist's words and the opportunity to do grade-school science labs was about the only way to get him in public sometimes, it was something he endorsed heartily.

And Bruce smiled at him for it.

"Thank you for letting me run the show, Tony; I'm sure you're perfectly capable of finding more exciting things to do, and you're certainly more qualified." Bruce volunteered the thanks while stirring a wooden spoon furiously inside a mixing bowl of spices and gelatin, the action more in keeping with cooking than chemistry. He did that a lot—favored chemistry for science night—but in Tony's opinion, he was entirely underestimating his expertise. Bruce's papers may have said he was a physicist, but the quest for a cure to his condition couldn't have begun without a knowledge of chemistry and biology.

Besides, it wasn't like it was exactly Tony's area either.

"Nah, I preferred organic chemistry. Distilling alcohol and all that. Not the same level of insta-fun." Well, not to most; to a fifteen year old in a college class, it was _amazing_.

Bruce just shrugged and reached for cayenne pepper; the mixture was now burnt orange.

"Maybe not. Your dissertation was on anions and electron-deficient aromatic rings, right?"

Tony nodded, mentally adding the fact that _that_ dissertation had been. No point in bragging when Bruce probably already knew, especially since the comment was delivered so casually that it barely stood out.

Well, except for the fact that someone had just asked Tony about one of his doctorate degrees.

"Yeah."

"I read it a few years after you wrote it. It was brilliant, but somewhat controversial, I think."

Tony smirked to cover up the fact that the comment—gentle, and no way near some of the praise he had gotten during peer review and publishing—was making him flush in a way that not even the bawdiest jabs of past years had. He was glad his tan hid it, and that Bruce was focused on his task.

"Well, it would have to be. My name was on it."

Bruce glanced up, sharing an amused gaze in response. He had some of the paste on his cheek, and red spices stained his fingers; Tony had the unwelcome thought that both substances probably tasted horrible. Not that he was thinking about tasting.

(Okay, yes he was. Old habits died hard, and Bruce looked especially edible tonight.)

Fortunately, Thor interrupted before Tony could do anything stupid. Again.

"What's this, my friends? You bond over the spices without us?"

Bruce didn't hesitate at all to hand him a jar and another mixing bowl, teeming with gelatin and some other combination of powder.

"Not at all. Here—cinnamon."

Natasha surveyed the ingredients laid out, noting the spices and the recipe. Tony had to admit that it didn't look edible, not even by foreign food standards.

"Are you trying to kill us, Dr. Banner? Because I can't see this ending well."

Bruce, in explanation, removed a tray of familiar spheres. Tony was surprised, a bit; he'd thrown them away as hopeless failures. New tips for Clint's exploding arrows, pressure sensing; they had a tendency to go off early.

It was Steve who made the connection, picking one up in contemplation and squeezing. It was soft, something Tony had found particularly brilliant in design: no shrapnel to be found. Call him crazy, but he wasn't a great fan of shrapnel these days.

"It's art, right? Splatter art." Nobody asked how he knew that; Steve liked the art history channel, and modern art was a thing. Steve set the ball back down and explained further, with a shrug and a completely unabashed look of excitement. "No point in doing it if you don't make your own paint, or so I've heard."

Bruce nodded and offered Steve a different jar, this one filled with green leaves. Steve obligingly prepared his own bowl.

"Yes. Short notice, but I figure, working with what we have…" By which he meant military-grade explosives and common household spices, and Tony was amused.

"Brilliant as always, Doc." From Clint, said with a smirk that meant the comment was only half-serious. Tony was ready to agree with the sentiment, to chime in, perhaps unwisely, and disavow all knowledge of where the empty casings came from.

Bruce surprised him.

"Oh, it was Tony's idea." He shot Tony a quick smile of encouragement, as if giving him _permission_ to brag, a dangerous thought. "Well, my idea based off of Tony's idea. New exploding arrows for Clint, remember?"

Tony winced; the idea certainly wasn't as innocent or as successful as Bruce's paint bombs, and he didn't like admitting to botched attempts. Still, it was…nice to get credit. Tony was often heralded as a great inventor; it wasn't usual for people to be impressed with his failures, but Bruce was. And, judging by the little science experiment scattered across a living room that wouldn't look the same after tonight, they even inspired him. By the lavish praise that followed—well, lavish for Bruce—it even seemed that there was admiration there too, and understanding.

Pride: it fit a little bit better now. Tony…wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he was pretty sure it was somewhere between "awesome" and "terrified." Whatever the case, there was one thing he did know: if Bruce was proud to be his friend, then Tony would definitely count him as such.

Even though the paint bombs failed utterly at their purpose and descended into what was quickly open war, they kept them all busy and laughing for hours.

********


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce and Tony didn’t get along perfectly. Like all friends, they had their share of arguments and disagreements and moments where they hated each other. Sometimes they didn’t talk for days, one or the other busy fuming in silence as they replayed the conversation over and over. Sometimes Tony locked Bruce out of his lab, and sometimes Bruce swore he was going to move out. Sometimes, there was pure chaos.

But more often, there were shared conversations and amusing anecdotes, common ground and understanding mixed with trust and respect. Sometimes it _was_ perfect, and as far as Tony could see, it made all the bad times worth it.

Even the really bad times.

********

The day of Pepper Pott's engagement party was a great day by many accounts. It was the day Doctor Doom's bots failed to invade, stopped by the Avengers without a single casualty. It was the day Steve finally got the knack of sending email, the day Thor finally beat Clint at Gran Turismo, and the day Bruce finally finished Clint's new arrows. It was the day Natasha finally announced that she was going to attempt a non-terrifying hobby (golf, but Tony wasn't one to judge) and really, that alone was something to rejoice in. For what it was worth, everyone did; there was no party like a Stark party, and with so many things to celebrate, Tony made sure that he outdid himself. If he had his way, everyone would find themselves happy.

Well, almost everyone.

Tony had been accused of being an alcoholic before, but until the day Richard, that pompous, pathetic, _decent_ business executive, proposed to Pepper, he had never believed it. There had never been a reason to indulge more than occasionally, never a need for alcohol that didn't quickly disappear. This time was different, and so Tony found himself sitting alone, downing drink after drink, having abandoned the party he had arranged.

It wasn't that Pepper didn't deserve love, he promised himself. She deserved happiness considering how much she had done for everyone, more than he would have expected from anyone who wasn't a saint. She'd been with him for years, through it all, forsaking personal relationships for a job that demanded much and had few rewards. Tony had thought, at various times, that she did this because she was a workaholic, a babysitter, and a friend. This wasn't too far from the reality, and even after everything, he respected that, respected her. He wasn't mad that their short attempt at a relationship hadn't worked; he wasn't mad that she'd found happiness. Pepper deserved for all of her dreams to come true…he just hadn't thought marriage was among them, because she'd never told him. Never expressed any interest in the dreaded state of matrimony. Never uttered a word.

Tony had never expected to lose her so completely.

"Want some company?"

The footsteps that fell against the floor were heavy and familiar, matching the words of a stocky man who slouched too often. Tony snorted and downed the rest of his drink, easily two shots of scotch. It figured. It _just figured._

"I don't think I'm going to be very good company, Bruce."

The stool next to him scrapped against the floor with a painful cry, a decent imitation of an actual bar, shoddy flooring and all. It was a period bar, naturally—80s and early 90s—meant mainly for the familiarize-Steve-with-the-past project; Tony had thought it would be fun. It was still incomplete, except for the essentials (creaky bar stools and alcohol.) He wondered how Bruce had thought to look for him in such a place, and then he realized instantly: JARVIS, that over-concerned rat.

"What kind of friend would I be if I was only here when you were good company?"

Tony glanced at Bruce, who smiled quickly at him as he settled into his seat, his hair neatly combed and suit fully buttoned. Tony had bought him that suit; Bruce had insisted on paying him back. It still bothered him.

"A wise one?" Tony finally countered, but it was barely a comeback. Too soft, pitiful; Tony realized how he sounded, how he looked, and how close he was to falling. Maybe it was better that Bruce was here to catch him, even if Tony sometimes thought he'd rather have anyone else see him at his less-than-perfect moments. "Okay, maybe not. Still, you shouldn't have left the party early. I got a clown and everything."

"I'm not one for parties." Bruce shook his head and crossed his arms across the bar top counter, looking amused at something in that faint way he had. "You probably don't remember the last one. Something with mimosas, I think." _Didn't remember…_ it was all Tony thought about every time he saw Bruce out of the corner of his eye. A great deterrent, that memory. Also a great basis for fantasy even after all this time, but still.

"I remember," was all he said. No reason to give Bruce a big head.

Bruce still smiled at him, but it seemed out of place as he reached out a hand and tapped a finger against Tony's empty glass, as if he knew of Tony's plans to fill it as soon as he left. "You were drinking then too."

Oh. So that was the connection he was making.

"Are you trying to say I'm a drunk?" Tony spoke harshly, the words an attack in response to an assumption that people tended to make. Judging by the almost horrified look on Bruce's face, however, his reaction was way off the mark this time.

"No, Tony. I've known alcoholics before, and you're not the type." Bruce looked down out the counter, rubbing his eyes as he did so. "I'm just saying that it's an odd coincidence."

Tony smiled, because Bruce was a terrible liar. Just terrible.

"That isn't what you're saying. You're smarter than that." He sighed and reached for the small ice box, plunking a few more cubes into his glass. When he reached for the bottle of scotch, though, Bruce gently pushed it down the counter and out of his reach. It frustrated Tony into saying things he probably shouldn't have as he ran a hand through his hair. "Are you asking if I'm heart-broken then? If I regret the mistakes I've made, if they draw me to drink?" He forced a laugh and then popped an ice cube into his mouth, the better to keep the words from spilling out. It didn't exactly work. "You do know who I am, right? Regret isn't in my nature."

Bruce nodded quietly. "If that's what you want to tell yourself." Tony was surprised at the easy dismissal; it wasn't often that people considered his attempts at a tough front not even important enough to bother addressing. Tony felt he should have been affronted. Would have been, except Bruce was looking at him like he gave a damn, and it did things to Tony. Terrible, wonderful things. “It’s not worth it, Tony.”

It was an unfortunate statement to interrupt his thoughts, but even knowing they were talking about two different issues, it didn't change his response. _You can say that again, Bruce._

“Are you trying to tell me _Pepper_ isn't worth it?” At least that's what it sounded like.

“I would never say that. She’s wonderful.” By which he meant this wasn't entirely about Pepper, and they both knew that. “But sometimes, people just don’t fit. No matter how much they might want to.” Bruce's voice was knowing, and Tony couldn't help but wince.

“Is that what happened with your girl? Something-Ross?” Tony remembered it being a shock to _him_ ; when he'd first met Bruce, Tony would have guessed he was strictly into men, and then _bam!_ , research revealed a beloved ex-girlfriend. Though, the "ex" was more surprising than the "girlfriend" part.

Bruce just continued to smile in that brave way of good people who wished their lost loves the best.

“Betty. And no, that was…circumstances.”

The Hulk, Tony supposed, and Bruce's own self-denying nature.

“Hey, Bruce.” Bruce looked at him, and Tony raised his ice-filled glass in a toast. “ _We_ fit.”

“Yeah, we do.” Bruce looked sad for a moment. Tony couldn't begin to guess his thoughts, but shortly after the fact, he decided he didn't care. Bruce retrieved the bottle of scotch and poured him what Tony guessed was an ounce or two; it was hard to tell with the ice. "Last drink for the night, alright Tony?"

Tony raised his glass in an honest toast at that.

"Sure. To friends that fit, then."

Bruce nodded along even though he refused the last sip when offered, and for the first time that night, Tony was happy.

********


	4. Chapter 4

Considering Bruce's long-standing if justified paranoia of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the fact that his research had been primarily military in nature, Tony would have thought that meeting Bruce's normal people-shaped demons would have occurred relatively early in their friendship. He knew the strictly fact based details, of course (General Ross, gamma radiation, failed super soldier and failed everything really) but it was a big and lingering part of Bruce's past that facts couldn't really describe. Tony didn't expect Bruce to talk about it; Tony didn't talk about his time being held captive in Afghanistan (of which the facts read "three months captive, known terrorist faction, probable torture" and little else). So no, Tony wasn't expecting a heart-to-heart, but he was expecting maybe an appearance from the men who would send Bruce running around the world to escape. The Avengers team was public, was known, was _global_ , and the Hulk was something of a fan favorite; for a military organization supposedly giving chase, they were doing an awfully shitty job.

When Tony walked through the downstairs lobby of Stark Towers on his way to a convention in Marrakesh and saw two dozen unfamiliar military men waiting for him, he couldn't help but think _finally._

"You guys are sure late. Don't you watch the news? It's been almost _three years_. Do I need to make a sign?" Because seriously, they had arrived almost a month after Pepper's wedding (short engagement, something that was probably not helped by Tony's constant "good kids waiting for marriage" comments) and nearly three months after Natasha had been invited to some LPGA tournament. It was like they were waiting patiently to have all the Avengers with free schedules, and big surprise, it was a wish that was granted.

"Mr. Stark, we have no business with you." The comment was a drone from a large man in full army dress, with bushy hair and a face like a sheepdog attempting to look dignified. Clearly the leader, if the posturing was anything to go by.

"Really? Because you're in Stark Towers. Seems like it might involve me." Tony glanced him and his men over, pursing his lips as he did so and being thankful that he never went anywhere without the Mark VII sensors on these days. "Are you General Ross?" He was definitely a general, and the moustache seemed somewhat familiar…

"No. I'm General Pacoon, but I do represent the US Government in this matter." Yeah, Tony would just _bet_ he did. Half the people running the armed forces hadn't known about the experiments, and the other half had condemned them after Bruce's accident. This guy was sure a piece of work, though, puffing up like a canary and attempting to out-bluff _Tony_. It was more than a bit amusing. "It has come to our attention that Stark Industries is in possession of army property."

Tony shrugged, crossed his arms, and gave JARVIS a nonverbal but distinct signal.

"You'll have to give me a list."

Pacoon did not like that, nor did his men. Tony watched them, the way they shifted and their eyes darted from him in his crisp suit to the elevator doors.

"Dr. Robert Bruce Banner," Pacoon finally offered, as if Tony wasn't perfectly aware. "Our information says he lives here."

Tony smiled at that, the expression toothy and without humor.

"He does. In a very nice little apartment too—I'm thinking about going into real estate. Well, more into it than I am now."

"Mr. Stark. It is vital to the safety of the nation that he be released into our custody."

Tony had been waiting for it, and he dismissed the comment out of hand, tapping his fingers against his elbow. Another signal, but Pacoon bristled at the light response; there was no other word for it. Tony thought he should probably take lessons in dignified affront if that was the best he could do.

"Yeah, no. Do you even know who you're talking to?" Pacoon attempted to draw breath behind his handlebar mustache, but Tony just continued on, undeterred by the clear plan to interrupt, to convince him of their barely-legal grounds. "You don't get him, you can't have him, you're delusional. You might have claims to military research, but trust me when I say, as someone who has a _lifetime_ of experience with military weapons, that you have no claims whatsoever on ex-employed scientists. Maybe the Hulk experiment, if you're pushing your luck, but since the Hulk is a private citizen 90% of the time, that's a hard wash."

The elevator doors opened at the end of his speech, and seven of the men snapped hands to the pistols at their sides, ready. He turned, saw Bruce standing there in lab coat and with bed head, and Tony smiled, not surprised to see him in the least. JARVIS had called him at Tony's request, after all.

"Tony." The word was a warning, and his eyes flicked from Tony to the group of men, suddenly alert and tense. Tony continued to smile blithely.

"Maybe 95%, actually." The comment was fond and directed over his shoulder, with humor, with ease. "Bruce? Do you Hulk it in the shower?"

"What does that even mean?" Bruce shook his head in disbelief, and his fists clenched. The big guy was hovering near the surface, Tony supposed; it didn't change things at all. "Tony, you really should think about this."

Tony waved a hand, a dismissal. "Thought about it. JARVIS has an awesome security system; guns come out, some folks are getting vaporized." He smiled pointedly at Pacoon and his men, all of them just watching. "JARVIS?"

"Messages sent and received, sir. Captain Rogers, Thor, and Ms. Romanoff are en-route. Mr. Barton is currently in the air ducts."

Pacoon paled, and Tony nodded.

"Mmm-hmm. Yeah, and that's just him. I bet he has an explosive arrow loaded right now. But hey, I'll make this easy on you." He paused, and waited. It was only seconds before the Mark VII armor came shooting down the hallway, firmly affixing itself to his body in moments. They all look stunned, even Bruce, when Tony took a firm stance in front of a scientist trying hard not to turn green in panic. "You can either leave through the door or through the wall. Your choice."

They left, as Tony had known they would. He felt triumphant, and more annoyed than he'd let on during the encounter. Come into _his_ home, try to take _his_ friend? His bluff hadn't been that much of a bluff, hadn't intended to be; it was a way to be the aggressor so Bruce didn't have to be the monster this time, but Tony almost wished they'd tried something. Almost wished they'd seen Bruce stay cool, stay calm, while they scattered.

When the armor came off—because really, it was hardly comfortable when over the bunched cloth of an Armani suit—the first thing that he noticed was Bruce standing next to him while the Mark VII zipped away.

"JARVIS doesn't have the ability to vaporize anybody, does he?"

Okay, so maybe Tony had stretched the truth a _little_.

"No, but it's a handy bluff. Not like any of those camouflaged buffoons know the difference; might as well be magic to them." He shook his head and righted his shirt and tie. "Besides, I don't think they would have fired on anybody. They were just trying to bully you out of here; legally, they don't have a leg to stand on."

Bruce didn't look happy with Tony's logic, and Tony was somewhat put out.

"Tony, I've dealt with these people before. They're dangerous." The words were frustrated, like Tony had done something wrong. It was never a tone that struck a good chord with Tony, even when it was justified (and this time it definitely _wasn't_.)

"And what am I, a pony?" A thought occurred, and Tony glanced at him quickly. Bruce wasn't meeting his eyes. "Bruce, if you're thinking you should have just left with them, stop it right now." He waited for a beat, in which the only answer was silence. Tony narrowed his eyes." You're still thinking it."

"It…might be for the best." Bruce seemed so resigned when he said it, sounded completely unbothered by it like he thought he deserved to be experimented on, taken apart, tortured, killed. Tony didn't know whether to kiss him or punch him, but he knew that neither would be received well. He also knew that Bruce was _wrong_.

"The hell it is. Bruce, you're my friend. My best friend, even, now that Pepper is being gooey with Dick in some corner somewhere." Bruce didn't seem appeased, and Tony clapped him on the shoulder. Hard. "I'm proud to be your friend." He put emphasis on the words, because what else could he say? It was the truth. A _fundamental_ truth.

Bruce's expression of stunned disbelief said that he didn't understand it at all. Like Tony was somehow worthy of the comment, but _Bruce_ wasn't. It was mind boggling, and also something that Tony frankly had no time for at that moment, no matter how much he wished to get to the heart of the matter _right fucking now_.

"Look, I'm going to be late. I'll explain it later, in detail if you want." Tony glanced at the outermost door, where even now the remaining Avengers were starting to arrive, called by JARVIS's emergency signal. "Until then, just pretend I didn't say anything, and _don't_ do anything stupid like surrender the next time those boneheads come calling. Okay?"

Bruce agreed, but it was clear the words were reluctantly pried from his lips. It bothered Tony throughout his flight, bothered him the entire time he spoke about clean energy and all the benefits it would bring. It bothered him even more with each young, ambitious scientist that crossed his path clamoring for attention, something that Bruce had never asked for.

He wondered how he could ever make Bruce understand how much he mattered.

********

When Tony returned three days later, he wasn't surprised to see that Bruce was avoiding him. Oh, he had good excuses—this experiment, that commitment, sleep—but Tony knew none of them were entirely the truth, because he'd been expecting them. It wasn't in Bruce's nature to embrace confrontation, even without looming concerns over the result; Bruce, if given the chance, would wait it out, wait for it to fade. Forget it, like he had other awkward encounters in the past. Tony knew that (had experienced it a couple times, first hand) and normally, he was fine with it. It was just Bruce's way.

This time, though, Tony knew the issue couldn't be allowed to fade. They were on the brink of something, he felt it, and there was only so much pushing away that Bruce could do, only so much running and hiding. Tony would wait, but eventually…eventually, Bruce would come out, and they would talk.

A week after Marrakesh, Tony found the handwritten letter, resting on top of his favorite chair in the lab he favored the most. It was short, to the point: _I'm sorry, but I just need to leave. Goodbye, Tony._ There was no signature, but considering JARVIS confirmed that Bruce had left the premises sometime the night before, there was no doubt to its author. Tony was both surprised and disappointed. Then, the anger came.

He would have thought the _U.S. military_ could cover up a kidnapping better. As it stood, their mistakes were everywhere. Rookie mistakes, or so they seemed to someone who had studied Bruce for many reasons over the course of years. Tony might have been called many things, but “unobservant” had never been one of them.

Bruce preferred to take and leave notes by hand; an odd quirk for someone who worked in Stark Labs, but there it was. Tony had seen him do it dozens of times, hunched over whatever scrap he could find, recording the brilliance of his mind at whatever moment. Tony was familiar with his handwriting, his tics, his patterns…and he knew the note he held was not Bruce's goodbye, no matter how it seemed. Oh, it was a good forgery; Bruce had probably even written it himself. But the letters were uneven like hands had been shaking, and there were smears across the lines, written left-handed with skin dragging over ink. Bruce was capable of writing with either hand, but he only ever used his left when his right was occupied. Twisted behind his back, for instance.

It took less than ten minutes to gather all the Avengers, and less than five to convince them that he was right in his suspicions. JARVIS—after a short blip where Tony overrode sloppy military tampering—confirmed that Bruce hadn't left alone, that six men (one of them Pacoon) had been with him. They'd gotten into a jeep in clear view of Tony's satellite monitoring, and the license plates were traced to a small covert facility outside Newburgh; coincidence, but Tony recognized it from digging through S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database the very first time the Avengers had been called together.

Between the Quinjet (readily allowed by a furious Fury) and five pissed off Avengers, they made it there less than three hours after Tony had found the note. All times accounted for, Bruce had been in their custody less than fourteen hours, at the facility less than eleven. It was too long, and it was enough to make Tony shake with rage underneath metal, enough that he barely waited for Steve to give the command to fall forward, to swarm and take the place. Barely, but Tony's purpose was clear once inside, and he knew he needed backup, needed Clint's bow and Natasha's guns and Thor's hammer and Steve's plan. Find Bruce. Get him to a doctor, if necessary. It had _better_ not be necessary.

The first frightened scientist Tony encountered pointed him in the right direction, and Tony found him, lying still on a slab, strapped down with dozens of machines and wires and IVs sticking into naked limbs. And Tony felt it, the first tremble of a heart that had somehow tipped over the brink, conversation or not. Problematic, but he would think about it later; right now, Bruce was pale but breathing, and Tony wasted no time in removing each wire and tube carefully, aided in his attempts by loose medical charts on a clipboard. Catheter. Seven chemicals, enough to keep him under temporarily, but bad for the liver, likely to cause stroke and a host of other problems. Electroshock; stimulated the Hulk transformation, or close enough. Cameras, to watch muscles react. Draining blood, a little over a pint and a half in the last six hours, uncaring how it affected his health. Tony noticed there was no attempt to keep him hydrated or out of pain, and it made him angry. So angry.

After most of the tubes were removed and the straps released, Bruce began to stir, blinking his eyes sluggishly.

"T-Tony?" It broke Tony's heart to hear him stammer. Bruce didn't stammer; even when the words didn't come easily, he always spoke with purpose.

"Yeah." Tony swallowed, felt thick relief when Bruce smiled, lopsided because his muscles were still weak. At least he was alive. "We'll get you out of here, okay big guy? We'll go back home, bandage you up; a couple of the tubes were in there pretty deep." Almost to the bone, but Tony didn't say that.

Bruce stirred at the mention of "bandage," however, clearly frightened underneath sluggish reactions.

" _No._ Tony, no; my blood, it's—it's radioactive. You have to leave."

If Bruce had been any more awake, Tony would have thought he was joking.

"…really?" Bruce just looked at him with terror, with concern, and Tony felt out of place. Wasn't he the one doing the rescuing here? But here was Bruce, begging him to leave, and for reasons that…well. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard, and from such a smart guy." Tony sighed, reached out a hand to touch Bruce's forehead, to move the damp hair stuck to clammy skin. Bruce flinched at the touch of even metal fingers. "The skin isn't _that_ good of a barrier, Bruce; if you were that radioactive, JARVIS would be warning me to don a radiation suit every time you walked by." And contrary to popular belief, Tony wasn't an idiot; he had the protocols installed in JARVIS's master programming days before he ever met Dr. Banner. He didn't blame Bruce for being concerned, though; he hadn't had much exposure to regular medical care since the incident, Tony imagined, and therefore no way to know differently. "I'm willing to pretend you never said that, actually; we'll blame the drugs."

Tony considered the matter dismissed and shifted his hand, attempted to get Bruce to sit up slowly. Eventually he succeeded, but further attempts to move him—dragging him to his feet, or hefting him over one armored shoulder—proved ineffective.

"There are other reasons not to be around me when I'm injured, Tony," Bruce murmured quietly, and Tony was surprised to see him smiling with a bit more awareness than before. "But…you almost never mention the other guy directly. You don't even think about him half the time, do you?"

"When I do, I think he's awesome." Which was true, but in Tony's eyes, it was only half the story. The Hulk was awesome because he was _Bruce_ , not the other way around; too often, people forgot that, and saw only the monster, the weapon, the animal. Tony refused to be one of them.

And because he noticed, because he saw more, he started to _see_.

The way Bruce was looking at him now, under drugged haze…that wasn't friendship. It might have been clearer because of the drugs—might have even been created by the drugs—but it was warm and trusting and relieved and of such intensity that all the memories Tony had of other looks, other moments, immediately paled.

 _That_ was the way Tony looked at Bruce sometimes. And real or not, it deserved to be investigated…later. Right now a battle was still raging, albeit a battle now filled with rightfully deployed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and Bruce was still not at his best. Tony figured it would be the better part of valor to leave, and he did so, making one last attempt to heave Bruce over his shoulder and succeeding now that Bruce wasn't actively resisting. Task accomplished, Tony took off, trying his hardest to keep his flight pattern stable with extra weight making him lean hard to his right. He managed.

But as he flew out the building and saw Pacoon standing outside, watching the scene with mouth gaping, Tony landed, leaned a nearly unconscious Bruce against the remains of one wall, and then strode the remaining feet to where Pacoon stood frozen.

Pacoon looked at him, moved his mouth like he wanted to say something, spout some more nonsense about property and rights and military claims. Tony didn't want to hear it, and so even though it was (probably) not a good idea to get distracted and (probably) more for his own enjoyment than anything, he reached out a fist and rapped Pacoon right on the chin. Getting hit with a fist was one thing, but an _armored_ fist? Pacoon crumbled to the ground without a sound.

Tony shifted Bruce back to his shoulder in the silence, but he couldn't resist one last comment.

"Let me clue you in, Pacoon—we're the Avengers. Superheroes? Kind of popular? Not the kind of people who respond well to their friend being kidnapped."

Pacoon was already out cold, but really, it was the thought that counted. Besides, Tony rather thought he'd remember the lesson anyway.

********


	5. Chapter 5

Other than some dehydration and a couple dozen nasty puncture wounds from careless needles, Bruce had no lasting damage that either the doctor (imported from India—a friend of Bruce's, because the last thing he needed was random medical people after all this) or JARVIS could assess…at least, not physically. Tony thought, often and with great regret, that the damage of being kidnapped and strapped down and drugged would be far more lasting on the inside. Bruce didn't trust easily; it had taken months before he was able to sleep the night through even surrounded by safety, took many weeks to trust in the Stark security system and know that he was not in danger. Although Tony was in the process of upgrading his security and doing so extensively, it was still no comfort to someone who had awoken to their nightmares in their room because the system had failed them. The damage would likely be permanent, and it was justified; it was all Tony's fault.

The result was not as Tony had expected, because _Bruce_ was never as he expected. When Bruce finally emerged from his bedroom after prescribed rest and fluids, he didn't avoid any of them, didn't act skittish in the slightest. When Tony checked the security cameras at night (only once and only out of desperation, because he had _some_ boundaries) he found that Bruce's sleep appeared undisturbed, untroubled by nightmares or restlessness. He didn't react to needles, doctors, technology, or even military personnel badly; he just…seemed calm. Better, even, than he'd been before. Tony couldn't make heads or tails of it.

So he asked.

"Hey, Big Guy. What's new in the world of science?"

Bruce smiled, even as his eyes remained focused on the small pipet in his hands that was carefully measuring one fluid ounce of clear liquid into a petri dish. He didn't flinch when Tony came up behind him, and other than a short look of exasperation, he didn't react to the hand that landed firmly on his shoulder after he was finished.

"Progress, of course." He slid the dish inside a containment case and proceeded to the next with a different bottle of liquid and a clean pipet. Tony watched, not moving his hand from its perch in the slightest until Bruce shrugged him off. Tony noted how long it took, curious: almost a minute. Not nearly fast enough.

"And by 'progress,' you mean…?"

Bruce shifted in response, gesturing to an array of bottles across the countertop, dozens of petri dishes in addition to the samples already prepared, and—if Tony wasn't mistaken—bags of Bruce's blood.

"While I was under, they used a few drugs to keep me unconscious, but the dosage fluctuated," Bruce explained. "When I was more aware, I read some of the labels on the other IV bags, and some combination of these chemicals managed to keep the Other Guy at bay."

Bruce held up a small glass bottle, his most recent additive, and Tony read the label. The picture of a complex molecule automatically began to form in his mind, but the purpose of that particular compound confused and frightened him.

"If my memory is right, though, that also one of the key ingredients in _mold_ prevention." 'Hardly meant for human consumption' was what he meant, and he was relieved when Bruce nodded, setting the bottle down again.

"I never said it was ideal. But in combination and in the right quantities, it might just do the trick. A quick injection. Not a cure, but…" He trailed off, and Tony's lips twitched.

"'In case of Hulk, break glass'?"

Bruce nodded and pushed his glasses back up his nose as he refocused on his work.

"Something like that."

Tony waited, expecting further explanation. Expecting at least some reaction, but Bruce was, by all accounts, once again absorbed in his work. Tony couldn't believe it.

"Is that it, then?" Bruce looked up, eyebrows raised in question. Tony grasped for words. "The only reaction to…all of this? Gratitude for newfound knowledge?"

"Were you expecting something different?" Tony shrugged, and Bruce began to nod slowly in understanding almost immediately. "Oh, I see. You think that now that Pacoon and his men have found me, I'll run. That I'll worry about him hurting all of you, catching me, locking me up." He smiled gently, fondly. "Tony, it was never that. Or not only that." He set the pipet down, pushed the last of the dishes into the containment area. His eyes stayed focused, like any good scientist, but Tony also knew it was a convenient excuse not to meet his eyes. "The fear came from knowing that no one would ever look for me." It was said with regret, with sadness, but then Bruce shook his head, shook the mood away, the lingering fears. "I was wrong. I know you've all told me this before, but I guess now I…believe you."

"I always meant it, Bruce." Bruce smiled, just a shy smile directed at the counter, and Tony cleared his throat with a cough. "And, you know, Steve and them too. We wouldn't just abandon you."

"I know. Thanks, Tony. You're…a good friend." Tony told himself that Bruce hesitated, and that was the push he needed.

"There's something else I've been meaning to talk to you about." There were a lot of things Tony wanted to say. How much Bruce's friendship meant. How much Tony admired him. How much Tony _wanted_ him—actually, that probably wasn't the best place to start. "Do you remember that night I kissed you?" Shit. That had none of the subtlety of the opening lines he'd planned, and it startled him to hear it come out of his mouth.

Almost as much as it startled Bruce.

"I…yes?"

Well, he had his attention. But for some reason, Tony's normal, smooth speeches were failing him. He didn't have the words to say what he wanted, not with Bruce staring at him with surprised eyes.

"Because I've been sort of meaning to do it again. As often as possible. And other things." _So_ not part of his planned speech, but true all the same.

Bruce bit his lip, and Tony remembered kissing him. And remembered Bruce reacting badly.

"Tony…"

"Hear me out." Tony took a deep breath and tried again. "I know I haven't always been the best risk." No, not the best line—it wasn't about him. "I mean, for relationships." _Definitely_ not the best way to go with that. "And I know I have problems…"

Bruce shook his head quietly, and Tony felt something sink low in his chest.

"Tony, have you been drinking?"

Tony frowned at that, because although it was in no way the hard rejection he'd been expecting, it was certainly not a welcome response.

"What? It's four in the afternoon. Of course not."

Bruce leaned forward and kissed him. It was sudden and unexpected, but Tony didn't pull away. He had learned what that sort of results that would bring, and rejection wasn't something he even wanted to imply.

When Bruce pulled away, he kept his hands on Tony's shirt collar, fingers under loose seam.

"I could never take advantage of a drunk man, Tony. No matter how much I might want to." Bruce swallowed, and Tony watched the motion. "And you never tried again."

"I could have." It was news to Tony, but looking at Bruce now, everything was different. "I'm glad I didn't." Sex was fantastic, always had been, and Tony wasn't going to knock it. But compared to what he was feeling now… "Because, oh God, now it's so much more."

Bruce leaned in again, and this time Tony met him halfway, mouth hungry and hands clutching at Bruce's button down. Bruce held him there with long fingers on the shadow of his neck and jaw, the heel of his hand pressed firmly three inches above Tony's arc reactor. It was a little hard to breathe (which was exciting, and Tony would have to remember to bring that up later) but it was also deliciously illuminating. Bruce wasn't a pusher, didn't drag Tony's head down to meet him, guiding and gentle; he was a _puller_ , fingers catching in clothes and yanking, lips rising up to meet lips when they weren't close enough. Eager, but Tony had seen eager before; desperate, longing, _ravenous_ was what Bruce was. Hungry for touch, and Tony was thrilled to oblige.

Tony ignored it when they started knocking very expensive equipment over, but Bruce didn't, pulling his head back to mouth at Tony's neck.

"Tony," was the muffled groan against his pulse, and Tony hummed in response, certain he'd never heard a better sound than his name broken across the air with need. His fingers caught in Bruce's hair: soft as he'd expected, but thick, and when he tugged at strands a little too hard, Bruce groaned again. The sound was familiar, pure Hulk in nature, but when Tony looked at him, he was without the slightest tint of green. He was just…channeling his more animal half.

Tony couldn't have been happier, or more turned on. He yanked Bruce's head up, found his mouth again and shared a kiss that was deep, long, and wet. When he pulled back, he was happy to see Bruce's eyes dilated behind his glasses; Tony smiled as he slipped the frames from his ears and set them on the counter in order to trail his hands lower, his breathing heavy to match the heaving chest against him. When his hand cupped Bruce through his pants and the other began to work at his belt, Bruce's eyes slid shut, a trembling of dark lashes as unsteady as his breathing. Whether it was a reaction to the suddenness of the touch or the intensity didn't matter, because Bruce didn't pull away, and Tony felt like he'd been waiting forever for Bruce not to pull away.

Hands still moving with expertise, Tony leaned forward and pressed his mouth against the nearest ear. "I'm going to suck you _dry_ ," he whispered, just as his hand found its way past cloth and through dark wiry hair to solid flesh, hot and thick. Bruce shuddered…and then pulled back, looking apologetic. Tony almost whimpered in frustration.

"Sorry, Tony." He swallowed, the sound thick and motion quick in his throat. "I don't have any condoms."

Oh. Huh. Well, that was a problem Tony could deal with.

"Third back cabinet, top drawer," he explained, hurrying away to the cabinet helpfully labeled EMERGENCY SUPPLIES. Every room had one, stocked to the brim with, among other things, a first-aid kit, blankets, and condoms.

Bruce watched him pull them out with an expression that wavered between amusement, disbelief, and arousal.

"You put condoms _in my lab_?"

Tony shrugged and came back, slapping them and a tube of lube on the counter with triumph. "Emergency supplies for all occasions. You never know when you might need to…test the elasticity of latex."

"You're something else, Tony."

"And that something is _sexy_ , right?"

Bruce bit his lower lip, and this time— _this time_ —Tony leaned forward at the same time, happy to use his own lips to balm the small wound. Bruce didn't seem to mind; he kept Tony there with that same hand against his throat, and sighed blissfully when Tony's hands went back to their task.

"Maybe."

Tony grinned close to his face and pressed smirking lips to his cheek while his hands felt the weight of him. Talk about a big boy…Bruce might very well have been a grower _and_ a shower, but they'd have to look into that later.

"I could get used to this." He gave a few experimental pumps, touch rough until he slipped the condom on. Bruce's hands dug into his shoulders, hard enough to bruise." Oh yeah, I _definitely_ could."

Tony pushed him backwards onto the nearest tall stool, and Bruce didn't resist at all, didn't say anything as Tony knelt between his legs. He was a man of his word, after all, and he took perverse joy in watching Bruce's eyes widen, feeling him harden more as Tony slowly lowered the zipper the remaining inch and then pushed the flaps aside.

"The key to these sorts of situations," Tony began with a smile, playfully slapping Bruce's legs apart. "—is to remember that, when in doubt, nobody is ever too big to swallow."

"Oh, God."

"No, he's downstairs."

Bruce laughed, the sound becoming a gasp as Tony followed the quip with a quick swallow of his mouth, pressing down along the twitching length in his hands. The taste of latex was, as always, not his favorite, but the sacrifice was worth it when lips touched ribbed edge and then flesh, when hands were free to run up and down hairy thighs that wanted to move, strained for it with every muscle. As Tony moved and sucked, pausing only when his mouth felt dry, he expected the urge to push deeper, for Bruce to fuck his throat as the stool creaked beneath him. To his surprise, Bruce didn't move his hips at all, controlled man that he was. Despite the instinct to thrust, to penetrate, he was seemingly content to lie back and let Tony take him apart.

Tony did. While his head bobbed, his hands explored—along thighs, across balls, and back further, to touch perineum and then slide between his cheeks. Bruce did move then, rocked against Tony's hand, and Tony hummed in delight. Bruce was just full of surprises; he hadn't expected _that_ either, not this time. Change of plans then.

Tony removed his mouth with a light, wet pop, and then pulled back the few inches he could with Bruce's hands clutching his hair.

"Something you like?" Tony asked, voice raspy, and then he wiggled his fingers to emphasize. The tip of one, moistened by the lubricated condom, circled tight muscle that relaxed instantly. Bruce shuddered.

"Yes. Yes, Tony, oh God yes."

Tony wasn't going to ask twice, and he stood quickly enough to make himself light-headed. Too old to be on concrete on his knees, probably; well, he'd get a mat or something.

"How do you want it? Bedroom?" It wasn't like there was much space for activities in the lab, after all…but then Bruce shrugged out of his shirt and discarded it, pulled his pants down to his ankles and turned, bracing his hands on the counter in front of him.

Tony wasn't entirely sure he was seeing what he was seeing, but _oh hell yes_ if it wasn't a dream.

Bruce was smiling, a truly filthy smile that Tony had never seen before, and that made him weak in already weakened knees.

"I don't have all night. The sample deterioration needs to be recorded every hour."

That shouldn't have been hot; Tony was just picking up weird, Bruce-specific kinks. And he was okay with that.

"Right. In the name of science, then." He grinned and unbuttoned his shirt, paused before removing it completely. This kink he did know about—partially clothed—and since Bruce was already obliging…he left it on.

He did remove his belt before reaching for the lube, however, watching as Bruce spread his legs, lean muscular legs that could stand for hours in a lab or run for miles for his life. The thoughts—appreciation and understanding—made Tony's first touch from behind exploratory, drifting across the insides of his legs and the underside of his genitals in a careful circular motion designed to tease, to remind. Bruce’s cock twitched, still wrapped in latex and needy, arousal unaffected by the delay. Tony added lube to his hands and petted it affectionately and with promise, stroked before moving his hand down and sliding a single finger inside Bruce’s body. Bruce grunted, seemingly not expecting the motion so quickly, but he gestured for Tony to continue regardless. Tony didn't encounter as much resistance as he’d expected, considering it had been years since Bruce had been involved with anyone, and he pistoned his digit in and out in a measured motion that had Bruce panting in a ragged, instinctive way before long. Tony leaned forward in response, pressed his mouth and teeth to bare shoulder, marveling at the way they fit.

"You okay there, jolly green?"

Bruce shook his head, but his expression was wiry, amused.

"You have the worst taste in pet names." Tony met his eyes, met his grin. Bruce knew damn well what he was doing. "And if you don't hurry up, I'll do it myself."

"I'd like to see that, actually." Bruce huffed out a strained laugh, and Tony kissed his cheek, moved to grip the skin over his hips. "But later." Tony planned to stay like that just a little longer, evil tease that he was, but Bruce was a strong man, a fit man, and he yanked Tony's arms until he was forced to move to regain his balance, until they were pressed back to belly, the buttons of Tony's shirt and his arc reactor digging into skin and their pants tangling together. He didn't need a clearer hint. He tugged at his arms until Bruce released them, but once they were free, he resumed his task.

The second finger went into tight heat with a little more resistance, but as anyone with practice knew, relax and control were key. Bruce had both in spades, and the clench ceased almost immediately. Tony didn't bother with more; Bruce was already gnashing his teeth, and at this rate, Tony doubted the thin barrier of a condom would keep him from coming in an embarrassingly short amount of time. His only comfort was that Bruce was in a similar state, and really, there was no one Tony would rather be embarrassed with. It would have to do.

He slipped his own condom on and leaned forward, aligning himself with eager hands against strong legs. His fingers shifted until they once again found the opening made slick with lube and twitching with anticipation, and he guided himself to it, nudging the welcoming heat just slighting. He slid in, slowly but not too much. _Hot_ , god he was hot…Tony didn't think he was imagining it, either, and now he wondered if containing the Hulk did things to his body that no one else ever experienced. A constant fever. An endless heat. It could have burned, and for a moment, Tony thought it did. And then he moved.

Tony pushed, and Bruce shuddered. He pulled back, and Bruce whimpered. From there he couldn’t have stopped if he’d tried, and their motions became erratic, rapid, and without pause. Tony felt the damp of sweat on Bruce's skin, the tightness of his body, the firmness of his own cock when Tony's hands wandered, and then the press of fingers against his own, wrapping around his grip, guiding him. Tony followed, gripping and thrusting as muscles clenched.

It was over far too quickly, although—Tony was happy to note this—not embarrassingly so. All those years of practice had paid off, it seemed, enabling him to resist the lure of easy climax when Bruce suddenly stilled, allowing him to murmur filthy words while he slowly squeezed and jerked, draining him as he'd promised. Afterwards Tony shuddered and slid his hands up from hips and spent flesh, skimming along ribs and holding shoulders as he thrust. Despite the fact that he was manhandling Bruce as he did so, he heard no complaints; quite the opposite, in fact.

Bruce moaned and shuddered right along with Tony, and when Tony finally came, he wrapped his arms around Bruce's hairy chest and held him close.

And just kept holding him.

********

Bruce and Tony still fought on occasion, still had moments where pride overcame good sense. There were days where they couldn't stand each other and days where they loved each other and days where fuck it all, there was no time for this shit when Avenging was on the horizon. There were still days where Tony threatened to replace Bruce's toothpaste with something ass-nasty (and did) and days where Bruce calmly soldiered on and spent a lot of time with _Steve_ , which annoyed Tony to no end. There were _days_.

But there were also nights. Nights where they couldn't stop laughing, and nights where the Hulk didn't change back immediately but that was okay, and nights where Bruce just looked so happy and Tony _felt_ so happy. There was sex and understandings and _pride_ , and Tony never regretted any of it…because there were also mornings, and afternoons, and evenings. Taken as pieces, things were great.

When taken as a whole, they were even better.

********

End


End file.
